Two Rooms
by romana2525
Summary: Two rooms, two different women in similar circumstances, facing uncertainty over daughters yet to be born.
1. Chapter 1

Two rooms: Maura

"_She never forgave me," he told her._

"_For forcing her to give me up." She tried desperately to make it sound like a statement, but the question was still there._

_He looked at her steadily for a moment. "For being who I am," he said, finally._

She really needed to stop coming in here, she thought, easing herself down with a wince into the crate sitting in the corner. The room in question was on the second floor of Patrick's house, a room that had been added onto the house, and then forgotten about. The ceiling of the room sloped down to one side.

"Patrick's safe house," she whispered into the stillness. Except that nowhere was safe, she now knew, no matter what he said, no matter how many men he had walking the perimeter of the compound. She glanced down at her arm. The bruises had long since faded, but she knew exactly where that man's fingers had left their mark on her. Even now, she could feel them digging into her flesh, trying to take her away from Patrick.

She didn't know who this house really belonged to, but she'd found this room months ago. And she couldn't stop climbing the creaking stairs every day to sit in it and think.

To brood, Patrick said.

She wasn't exactly a prisoner, she knew. Were she to raise a big enough fuss, Patrick would acquiesce and allow her to think he was giving in. He'd let her leave, make a big show of setting her up somewhere safe by herself, without him. And then, he would watch, she knew, and keep her as safe as he could from the shadows.

If it was just herself, her own life to worry about, she would've left, and allowed him to play whatever games he felt he needed to play in the shadows. She'd wash her hands of Patrick Doyle and all the violence that surrounded his life, and that now surrounded her life. While she would only ever be as free as he allowed, she could tell herself that she had escaped it all, free to live her own life.

But she wasn't free. She passed a hand over her swollen belly, her heart aching for the life within. She and Patrick had made a terrible mistake, creating a life in the midst of all this death and destruction. There was no joy in this, just a creeping feeling of dread as her due date drew nearer. And she was pragmatic enough to know that she would not be able to protect this child on her own, even if they were to disappear to some obscure town as far away from the Irish mob as it was possible to get. Patrick's enemies would find them, and kill them to strike at him.

With a sigh, she leaned back, and surveyed the room for the hundredth time, trying to distract herself from thoughts she'd had a hundred times since the night she'd first set foot in this house. At one time, it had been a nursery. It was empty now, but she could easily see a crib in one corner, a pastel blanket folded neatly on the mattress. The crate on which she sat still had crayon marks on it, as did a few places on the walls and baseboards.

When she'd found out she was pregnant she hadn't really understood who Patrick was, or what he did for a living. He had secrets, of that she was certain, and though she'd pressed, he hadn't been forthcoming. After several months of meeting clandestinely, something she found romantic at first, she'd begun to suspect he was married. The day before she'd decided to confront him about it, she'd found out she was pregnant.

It hadn't occurred to her not to tell him, to be honest, though now she wished she hadn't. She could've born the scandal, the looks and the gossip that would inevitably follow a single mother of her age and social status around. She was wealthy enough that she could've provided very well for both herself and her child without a husband if she'd wanted to. But that hadn't occurred to her at all, because even though she was afraid that Patrick was married, that he'd taken her as his mistress, she was so deeply in love with him at that point that she couldn't see a life without him.

The joy in his eyes when she'd told him had given her the courage to ask him if he was married, the expression on his face as she asked reassured her. He'd held her, and whispered that he was not married, and that she was the only one he had ever loved, ever would love. Her, and now their child. He told her everything would be all right.

It was after that that everything had fallen apart. A month after finding out she was pregnant, they'd gone out to dinner, one of the small cafe's Patrick always took her to. They reminded her of the dark and romantic cafes she'd visited in Munich as a student. Patrick didn't like discussing the baby in public, so they'd talked about mundane things over dinner and coffee, then decided to return to her apartment.

The black car had pulled up with a squeal of tires as they'd walked toward Patrick's car. Out of nowhere, there were men all around her. One grabbed her, tore her from Patrick's grasp, and began dragging her toward a waiting car.

She remembered screaming.

She remembered Patrick's roar of rage.

She remembered being covered in blood as the head of the man who held her abruptly exploded.

Patrick had been at her side instantly, seizing her arm in his own vise-like grip and dragged her back into the cafe. They passed several men with guns, and she heard shooting behind them. He took her into the back of the cafe, then out the service door and into a waiting car, where he sat clutching her in his arms as they were driven from the city. He was shaking even worse than she was.

They'd come here, that very night. And Patrick told her everything. She'd sat there, listened to the story of his life unfold, mute with horror. That night, it was like someone had flipped a switch, turning all her love into regret, all her joy into despair. She couldn't hate Patrick, but she couldn't forgive him either.

After he explained everything, he promised her he'd keep her and the baby safe. She'd stared at him in disbelief. "You just told me that those men who attacked us tonight were the brothers of a man you tortured and killed," she had said, amazed at how calm her voice was. "They're just the beginning, aren't they?"

He'd looked defeated then, as he'd sat at the table across from her. "I will keep you both safe, I promise," he said. "I keep my promises."

"I want an abortion," she said. She hadn't meant to say it, hadn't even thought it until the words left her lips.

Patrick had exploded, putting his fist through the drywall in the kitchen, and for the first time she was afraid of him. "No!" he's shouted at her. "No."

"What kind of life will it have?" she'd asked, still marveling at how calm she sounded. "You want it to have your life?" she'd asked. A horrible thought occurred to her. "You want a successor, a son to take your place." The thought made her feel sick inside.

He'd looked guilty then, and she realized he'd at least thought about it. "No," he said again. He sat down again, and took her hand. It was all she could do not to recoil from him. "I told you I'll keep you safe," he said, gently, all traces of anger draining from him. "I'll find a way. You have the baby and I'll find a way to keep you both safe. I give you my word, I will keep you safe. Nothing else matters but that."

A private adoption, Patrick told her a few days later, and then a new life for her, far away from him and all of this. All the arrangements had been made. The couple would take custody of the baby as soon as it was born, and the adoption records would be sealed, making it impossible for the child to find them. She suspected Patrick knew more about the couple who were adopting the baby than he was saying, but she'd learned the hard way that it was sometimes better not to know Patrick's business.

The baby would grow up safely anonymous.

For the few days after she'd found out she was carrying Patrick's child, she'd entertained happy daydreams of baby showers, picking out names, tiny baby clothes. She'd pictured the two of them painting the nursery together. It had been a cliche, but such a nice image that she'd been unable to stop herself from indulging in it.

Since that night, however, she'd disciplined herself not too think too much about the future. There was no future, not with this baby, and certainly not with Patrick. There would be no first words, no first tooth, no first steps, no first days at school, no firsts at all. Not for her. Another woman would be there to celebrate those milestones, and all the others that would populate her baby's life. They would all pass by and she would be unaware of them.

And there was her constant worry about what this baby would be like. What if it ended up with some of Patrick's decidedly sociopathic tendencies? Would the child's adoptive parents know what to look for? And if they did see the signs of something dark and dangerous lurking in the child, how would they cope with it.

"Such a good baby," she whispered rubbing her belly in an attempt to shake off those worries, at least for a little while. She'd never been pregnant, but she'd heard and read horror stories of expectant mothers whose babies kept them up all hours of the night and day kicking. Not hers, she mused. It was like her baby had put itself on a tight schedule and didn't deviate from that unless absolutely necessary. There were times the inactivity worried her, but the doctor Patrick had brought in had assured her that she was lucky, and that the baby was strong and healthy.

Two more months, and all this, this nightmare would be over.

**A/N: Another sequence of stories I'm clearing off my hard drive. These were written either before second season, or shortly into it, I forget which. As always, comments, good or bad are much appreciated. Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

Two Rooms: Jane

"_You should talk to your mom," Maura said._

"_She's so mad at me," Jane groaned, rubbing her eyes. "I won't come home and sleep in my pink canopy bed."_

Frank had said everything would be fine when she told him she was pregnant, but she could see the worry lurking in his eyes. He was already working so hard to make his plumbing business a success, and they'd only just gotten married. And now there was a baby on the way.

There was no question about ending the pregnancy. She knew some couples took that as an option, but it was against their religion, and they didn't have the money. More importantly, she could never kill her and Frank's baby. She couldn't feel bad, however, as she ran a hand lovingly over her baby bump. This child, a girl, Frank was sure, would be so loved.

They'd found an old rocking chair someone had left on the street the night she'd told Frank about the baby. And, he'd gotten his old crib from his mother. They'd set them up in a corner of their bedroom, and she sat gratefully in the chair next to the crib. There was a big cardboard box of toys and clothes waiting in the living room. They still needed to find a changing table, and a place to put it. This apartment was already too small for them as it was, and a baby was going to make it even smaller. They didn't even have a room for her.

Once Frank's business was established they'd buy a house. Nothing fancy, they couldn't afford it. But something with a front porch and a yard, and an upstairs with a couple of bedrooms. It would have creaky stairs, and a sitting room, and a dining room. And there would be a big kitchen with a battered old table tucked in the corner where she would feed the kids their lunch.

Kids, she thought with a smile. Yes, there would be more than one. A boy and this girl at least. Maybe one more after that that she could baby more than the others like her mother had babied her youngest brother all his life.

But for now, there was only this girl to plan for, and it was a big job.

There wasn't much to do now but wait, though she was still haunting garage sales for baby clothes and toys. When they got the house, she knew just how she wanted to decorate her daughter's bedroom. It was the room she could picture the clearest, of all of them, except for the tiny sitting room crowded with her grandmother's old furniture. There would be stuffed animals, and a white vanity, and a bed with a pink canopy.

She picked up the book of wallpapers and began leafing through it, looking for just the right colors. In her mind, she saw the little dark haired girl, a miniature, female version of her father, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a room with striped wallpaper of the lightest shade of pink. White flowers and vines were worked subtly through it. She knew it existed—she'd seen it somewhere. Now to find it, and see if her cookie jar money would pay for it.

For not the first time, she wondered what this girl would be like. She knew she wanted her to look like Frank, but what would her temperament be like? Would she be quiet and serious like Frank, or would she have her own more boisterous personality? She wasn't sure which one she'd prefer, but she thought it might be a good idea for the baby to not be like her. They'd probably get along better if she were more like her father in her moods. She did enough talking for Frank, she could do it for her daughter as well.

There would be pigtails, and probably braces (although she hoped not because that cost money) and dolls. And, oh, the dresses…

She and Frank hadn't planned to have kids so soon. They hadn't exactly waited to be together before getting married, but they'd been…restrained. Once the wedding was over, it was like they couldn't get enough of each other, she thought with a grin. Frank had a certain way of smiling at her that made her weak in the knees. He could get her to do anything with that smile. Besides, she'd assumed it was safe because, like all her girlfriends, she was on the pill. Her church didn't approve of contraception, but she was sure God approved of their caution in not running the risk of bringing a child into the world before they were ready.

"But I thought…" He hadn't quite stammered when she told him, but she watched the color drain out of his face. She'd been afraid he'd be mad, that he would blame her somehow. And watching his reaction, she couldn't help but feel a wave of dread pass through her.

"I don't know how it happened," she'd told him breathlessly. "I didn't forget my pills or anything."

Frank must've seen the panic on her face. "Come here," he'd said, taking her hands. "Everything is going to be all right," he told her softly. "It will," he insisted when she shook her head.

Tears that she'd been trying desperately not to shed began to slide down her face. "But you're just getting your business going," she choked out.

"Shhh," he'd soothed, leaning forward and rubbing her back. "I think we should name her Jane," he said after a moment as she'd cried into his shoulder.

"What?" She'd raised her head and glared at him with watery eyes. "What if it's a boy?"

Frank chuckled at her. "It's going to be a girl," he said. "And she's going to look like me."

"You know that, huh?" she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

"I do," he replied.

"Well, you can explain to your son Jane why he keeps getting beat up on the playground all the time," she'd retorted, with a raw laugh.

He'd kissed her and told her again that everything would be all right.

As he was getting ready to head back to the shop, she'd stopped him at the door. "Why Jane?" she asked. There were no Jane's in his family, as far as she knew. And there weren't any in hers either. It seemed like such a boring name, and if she knew anything at all, she knew her daughter would not be boring.

"I read somewhere that Jane means 'gift from God," he said. "That's what she is. A gift from God. She's His way of telling us we're ready to start a family even though we think we aren't."

So here she and her girl and her husband were, seven months in, and two more to go before things changed even more. She and Frank hadn't even been married a full year, and here they were starting a family.

She and Frank might not have much money, and they were still awfully young. But she knew they were going to cherish this baby, give her all their love. There would be birthday parties, and school plays, and proms, and boyfriends.

And on a day far from now, there'd be a wedding.

It would all be so beautiful, every moment of it.

She looked down as her daughter kicked her sharply in the ribs, and couldn't wait for her to get here, so it could all begin.

**A/N: Another sequence of stories I'm clearing off my hard drive. These were written either before second season, or shortly into it, I forget which. As always, comments, good or bad are much appreciated. Thank you for reading.**


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